"And where are you going at this minute?" Saunders laughed, merrily.
"I was headed for the Capitol," she smiled, "but I'm all turned around. I went in at the front of this store, but feel as if I had come out at the back."
"I will go with you if you will let me," Saunders ventured.
"But I'll be taking you from your business," she protested. "You must not feel called on to show me about. To be frank, that is the reason I didn't let you know I was coming. You can't afford to be nice to all your mountain friends. They would keep you busy jerking them from under cars and automobiles."
"I have absolutely nothing to do," Saunders declared. "This is the way to the Capitol. We pass right by our bank, and I can show you where we hold forth."
He saw a cloud fall over her face. "I'd rather not—not meet—" She did not finish what she started to say and bit her lip.
"I understand," he answered, quickly. "He is not in town. He is spending the day in Augusta."
"Oh!" she exclaimed, in a breath of relief. "You will think me silly, but I can't help it. I oughtn't to be so, but I dread it above all things. If I were to meet him face to face I wouldn't know what to say. It would be like seeing some one actually rise from the dead. I wouldn't think so much of my own feelings as—as his. Uncle John saw him in Rome not long ago. He says he has changed in looks—but let us not talk about him. It can't do a bit of good. He is unhappy—I know he is unhappy. I knew it would be so."
An awkward silence fell between them. They had to cross a crowded street, and Saunders took her arm to protect her. He felt it quivering, and his heart sank in grave misgivings. He told himself that she would never care for any other man than Mostyn. She was the kind of woman who could love and trust but once in life, and was not changed by time or the weakness and faults of the beloved one.
Saunders indicated the bank among the buildings across the street, and he saw a wistful look steal into her grave face as she regarded it steadily.